


Taffeta

by khazadspoon



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Crossdressing, James in a dress getting handsy with Francis, M/M, Men in Dresses, THE DRESS, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/pseuds/khazadspoon
Summary: Francis finds him flushed and sheepish in the great cabin, excuses and reasons caught on his tongue as his hands let go of the deep red skirts held up to his knees.The sight is oddly charming, despite its unusual and damaging nature. James’s feet are bare, toes pointed where they are touching the floor as he stands on tiptoes, it makes him seem vulnerable in a way tears never did. His cheeks are red from embarrassment at being caught, his hair dark and curling about his cheeks and jawline in waves that look almost soft as silk. The dress clings to his chest, his arms, the slim curve of his waist, and Francis’ mouth goes dry as he takes in the dip of James’ spine when he turns in shock.





	Taffeta

Francis finds him flushed and sheepish in the great cabin, excuses and reasons caught on his tongue as his hands let go of the deep red skirts held up to his knees. 

The sight is oddly charming, despite its unusual and damaging nature. James’s feet are bare, toes pointed where they are touching the floor as he stands on tiptoes, it makes him seem vulnerable in a way tears never did. His cheeks are red from embarrassment at being caught, his hair dark and curling about his cheeks and jawline in waves that look almost soft as silk. The dress clings to his chest, his arms, the slim curve of his waist, and Francis’ mouth goes dry as he takes in the dip of James’ spine when he turns in shock. 

“Francis!” James gasps, his voice high and breathless. It does nothing to stifle the warmth building under Francis’ collar. 

He shuts the door behind him. For a moment he thinks James will play the scene off as a joke, just another foible that makes him more of a story than a man, but James sighs heavily and beckons Francis in. 

“I take it you found this in Sir John’s chest of treasures?” He asks, taking a seat at the table and watching as James walks with such  _grace_ to the sideboard, pours a drink for himself and a crystal glass of water for Francis. The tall man nods once and sits delicately next to him. 

“I don’t know what possessed me to- to put it  _on_ but… It’s soft. Though it’s hardly the strangest thing I’ve worn,” James says with a hint of a smile. 

Francis can’t help the laugh, small as it is, as he reaches out and fingers the smooth fabric of the skirt. It shimmers in the light, glimmers like a pool of blood. “I’ve no doubt you’ve been in stranger. Though I  _do_ doubt the sight was any more pleasing.”

A flush rises to James’ face. This odd flirtation, toeing a line they ought not to toe, has been going on for weeks now. As they prepare for their long walk to hell, they have grown closer. James’ self-deprecation has increased but so has his obvious admiration for Francis. Francis himself has been kinder, more able to sit and listen than he had when knee-deep in whisky. They have bonded, and that bond has become something that makes his heart flutter and his skin grow hot when their hands touch. 

“You find me pleasing, Francis?” James says under his breath. Francis nods. He feels something intangible break in the room as James stands, his long and delicate fingers taking the glass from Francis’ hand and placing it on the table. “Is it the dress?” He utters, reaching out to brush the shoulder of Francis’ jumper. “Or is it  _me_ that pleases you?”

He puts his hands on James’ hips and tugs him close, parts his thighs to let James stand between them. “It’s  _you_ , James;  _you_ please me.”

The kiss is surprisingly unpracticed - James has a reputation of loving company, but his kiss is too hasty, uncoordinated, and the naivety of it makes Francis’ chest ache and feel full. He grips tighter onto James’ hips and steers the kiss into something slower and gentler. When James climbs into his lap, skirts caught about his thighs, they break apart. James lifts his hips to adjust the skirts and Francis feels the sinfully soft skin of his thighs. He jolts, feels his breeches tighten, thinks for a moment he might faint from the sudden bolt of lust that flies through him. 

“ _Francis-”_ James groans, tipping his head back. Francis presses his mouth to the length of that neck, kisses and tastes, moves his mouth down to where the man’s chest rises and falls rapidly above the neckline of the dress. He pulls it down, seeks a nipple, shivers at how James’ hands rise to clutch at his hair. 

The skirts are lifted and Francis sees James’ cock, flushed dark pink and curving towards his belly. He fumbles with his own breeches to open the placard, freeing his own prick and makes a broken sound as James grips them both in one large and gentle hand. 

Francis’ eyes screw shut at the sensation. Hot skin against skin, pressure on his cock that threatens to undo him, and the sound of James’ moan in his ear. He feels brocade and taffeta against his prick where it falls to cover them. James whispers his name, sucks on his earlobe and moans as prettily as any woman. The world spins as he presses his face to James’ chest and his cock aches where James touches it, his body  _burns_ where the dress touches him. He wants suddenly to be naked, to have James spread out on the table with the dress pooling about him as Francis fucks him hard and deep. 

Then, as though they share the same thoughts, James is talking. “I want- want you  _inside_ me, want to feel you take me and fill me. Throw me down, take me, Francis;” he moans, rolls his hips and squeezes their cocks together. 

After so long alone it’s no wonder he finishes so quickly. He comes into James’ hand, spills against his cock and against the underside of the dress. James’ hand is slick as he continues to tug them both, and Francis takes his hand away to use his own. 

James’ voice is a broken and pitiful thing as he whimpers. Francis strokes him gently, one arm wrapped about his waist as he kisses the man’s chest, his neck, the sharp curve of his jaw. “I’d have you, James, right here. I’d split you open and push these skirts up to taste every inch of you.”

There is a shiver, a bitten off curse, and James is falling apart in his arms. His seed joins Francis’ on the underskirts, the fabric beyond help with their combined efforts, but he is too busy kissing James breathless to care. 

Then James lifts the ruined skirts and brings Francis’ hand to his mouth. He carefully laps at the mess of Francis’ fingers, sucks on the tips and Francis wishes he were a younger man without the years of drink embedded in his bones. As James’ eyes glitter, the flush on his cheeks a healthy pink, he wishes they were somewhere easier to tend with. He wants to strip James bare and wash him, to kiss him and lay beside him as they fall asleep. 

Impossible, no matter where they go, but that doesn’t stop him wanting. He keeps the thoughts to himself as James captures his lips in a kiss so soft it makes tears come to his eyes. 


End file.
